editorial comment at least, paraphrnalia is not the only one to laugh at that Blair!

by Oliver Pritchett


The new Metropolitan Police Commissioner, Sir Ian Blair, said last week that he would pursue "middle-class drug users, the people who take cocaine at dinner parties and at the weekend". This is going to make dinner party conversation more interesting.


"Mmmmm, this is delicious, Julia. By the way, have you heard about the Hobsons? They're selling up and moving a couple of miles down the road – just to be in the catchment area of a better dealer."

"The local one has gone down."

"Yes, terribly."

"No, I mean he's been sent down. You know, sort of prison thing."

"Do I detect a hint of marjoram in this, Julia? No, I agree with you about the dealer situation. Kate and I agonised about it for a long time, but in the end we decided to go private, didn't we, darling?"

"Yes, we've got this marvellous little woman supplier just round the corner who comes in twice a week and 'does' the cocaine. It's much less of a worry."

"Not marjoram, it's dill. Kate, I haven't seen you and Hamish for yonks. Where have you been hiding yourselves?"

"We've got this little crack den in Berkshire. Basic, but nice. We just hurl our stuff into the Volvo on Friday night and head off. The local users are charming. Very genuine."

"You know, sotto voce and all that, somebody ought to rescue Colin from Tamara, there at the end of the table. They've been talking about charlie for the past 10 minutes; she thinks he means, you know, charlie, but he's actually talking about dear old Charlie Tallboys.

"Tell me, are Peter Jones having a sale or was I hallucinating?"

"Dill, I would guess, with just a touch of oregano. Did Hamish tell you we were busted the other week? Quel bore. The children took it in their stride, but the au pair was upset. And, you can imagine, in our street, parking the police vans was a nightmare."

"They really ought to sort that out."

"I do wish the sirens were nicer."

"The annoying thing was that, unbeknownst to us, our lovely labrador, Poppy, was in season, so as soon as Mr Plod's sniffer dog came on the scene he made a beeline for her and there was soon rumpy-pumpy in the dining room."

"It's such a pity that we don't have police sirens like the ones they have in France."

"The sirens in Umbria are excellent. Sort of mellow."

"You know, we really ought to rescue Colin. He's been talking about the Rumbold wedding and Tamara thinks when he says cold turkey he means, you know, cold turkey, but he's actually talking about the buffet."

"We were at that wedding, as it happens, and the cold turkey was a disgrace. Not free range and not bronze – it spoiled the whole day."

"Were you busted by Detective Inspector Standage? We found him awfully nice, actually. I keep seeing his wife in Waitrose and we wave to each other vaguely."

"Julia, you must tell me how you get your couscous so fluffy and your coke so powdery?"

"Ah, that's a trade secret."

"Now, can we get to the matter in hand? The subject is: our darling Poppy. The thing is, she is now pregnant, by that wretched sniffer dog, and Hamish and I have to find good homes for the puppies."

"A labrador-sniffer cross. That sounds fun. We'll have one; the children will adore it. We can call him Constable."

"What's all that noise out there, Julia?"

"I'll find out. Oh, I think it's the drugs squad dropping in. Taking pot luck, you might say. Isn't this nice? Good evening, inspector. Now, shall I make the introductions? Kate, Hamish, this is Inspector Travers. He's got lots of fascinating stories about bashing down front doors."

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